


Meaningless, Mindless…

by LetmeliveTM



Category: Sherlock TV
Genre: M/M, Memories, Mind Palace, Not Beta Read, Only Minor Johnlock, Repressed Memories, Set sometime after S4, Sherlock's Mind Palace, but you can take it however you like :), it's hinted at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26147521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetmeliveTM/pseuds/LetmeliveTM
Summary: Sherlock finds a door he's never seen in his Mind Palace before…
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Meaningless, Mindless…

Sherlock didn't have time for trivial thoughts.

Fleeting, intruding things that disrupted the smooth flow of thought and wedged themselves into tedious and uncomfortable places.   
They'd root themselves in the dusty corners and unused closets of Sherlock's Mind Palace, waiting for him to stumble across them so that they could leech onto him like parasites and suck all other ideations from his body, leaving only that one, singular thought in it's place.

To say Sherlock disliked the thoughts was an understatement.

He loathed them.

He hated their impromptu timing and typically negative connotations, forming a web of sub-thoughts that ultimately lead to the polished wood floors of Sherlock's mind palace to cave beneath his feet like a sinkhole and send him spiraling down a rabbit hole of self-deprecating and guilty ideas.   
It was rare that these little destructive thoughts held positive meaning within them, however, there were some occasions where it aided him in whatever he was focusing on.

For example, during his time in Serbia - a series of events he dared not dwell on - the fleeting images of John Watson that flickered before his mind like a broken projection, kept him from bending to fate's will and accepting his death.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried, he could not find a way to delete these notions completely, they would show up whenever and however they please, tormenting Sherlock with the confusion and hatred they brought.

It was infuriating.

One day, whilst Sherlock was wandering the long, winding halls of his Mind Palace, he came across a door he had never seen before. Cautioned by previous mysterious doors and the like containing less than desirable thoughts, Sherlock almost walked straight past it, deciding he would rather not deal with another weight on his shoulders.  
Yet, his traitorous eyes slid back over to the door, dilapidated and chipped and out of place beside the smooth, clean doors surrounding it.

After staring at it for a long while, Sherlock took a deep breath and opened the door, wincing at the high pitched squeal the dry hinges made and bracing himself for impact.

But it never came.  
Feeling encouraged by this fact, Sherlock stepped into the room and looked around.

It was dark and it took a while for his eyes to adjust, but when they did he could see the soft blue glow of the moonlight filtering though a thin sheet covering the unfinished window.   
The entire room seemed like it had started to be built but then was given up on early. The framing was still visible and the wood used to make the floor was rotting and mottled.   
Sherlock worried the wood might give away under his weight as he stepped further into the room, a loud groan from beneath him making his heart rate pick up and rise to his throat.

There was a simple metal table at the end of the room, scratched and rusting on the legs, with nothing on it beside a small tape recorder in the very middle. 

Curious, Sherlock stepped closer, resolutely ignoring the creak and rumble from the floor.   
He considered the tape recorder for a second before picking it up, turning it over in his hand and running his long fingers over the buttons, feeling the grooves where the play, pause and rewind symbols were etched into the plastic.  
After finding the play button, Sherlock pressed it, the click resounding in the barren room.

"Hi"

Sherlock jumped when John's voice filled the room, far too loud for the tape record to be the only source. He waited for it to continue.

"How are you?"

Sherlock blinked, frowing in confusion at the little instrument in his hand as another long pause extenuated the thick silence that hung over his shoulders.

"I miss you…"

There was another beat of silence until the tape recorder clicked again, signaling the end of the recording and the need to be reversed.

Sherlock stood there for a long time, holding the device in his steadily numbing hand, a draft ruffling his coat and his hair from the measly window cover. He couldn't remember any of this, whatever this even was. 

He put the tape recorder back on the tablet and stared at it again. He considered playing it again, weighing the options carefully before he walked out the room on stiff legs.

Whatever it was, was in the past now and if he wasn't mistaken, he could hear the jingle of one of Rosie's toys out in the real world, echoing down the halls of his mind…

**Author's Note:**

> Just a lil' smthn I randomly thought of  
> Could be considered filler I suppose ;)
> 
> Love ~G


End file.
